Points of View
by AuburnSly
Summary: Stories of very different people before the war. First 3: Hermione, Malfoy, and Sirius.
1. Giving In

A/N: I don't know where I got this. It was just kind of jumping around my head one day during English. Anyway, I don't own her, or anyone else mentioned.

ATTENTION: These little stories are not really related, but do have a little in common. They are kinda sad, and take place before the war. If anything in them collides with another story in this set, I'm sorry. I did check, but I might have missed something. Thanks.

* * *

"Give in, Hermione," they say. "You might as well. You know we won't make it out of this… alive." 

And she assures them, she is perfectly content being the last virgin in Hogwarts, 5th years and up. Some even say the 1st years were giving in, because they are at Hogwarts. And Hogwarts isn't so safe anymore.

"It doesn't even matter who it's with, just to say you've done it."

But it does matter. Even in her last few months of life, Hermione has morals. And she thinks something like that should be based off love. Or at least something a little stronger than just like, if nothing else.

It isn't that Hermione does not love anyone, not at all. She loves her friends. But she knows sleeping with one of them would only lead to bad terms between the trio. And she wants to die knowing they would still be friends in the after life.

"It's great, trust us. You won't regret it."

But she would. Just like she will regret leaving everything else in this world she loved. Her family, her friends, her teachers. And the little things, like Hogwarts: A History, Crookshanks, and the warmth of the fire in the Gryffindor common room.

"Even if you do… make it out, it's not as if you'd see the bloke again."

Hermione knows, she understands, that there is very little chance to make it out. Alive, at any rate. But if she did, by a glimmer of hope, she couldn't stand knowing her first would be with a man she'd never

speak to again. Maybe never even spoke to in the first place.

So, Hermione sits in the common room, soaking up the joy of the fire, Hogwarts: A History, and Crookshanks in her lap. Others are off, exploring before their doom. And she sits, reading and thinking. Some call her daft for being so proper, when she should enjoy the end of life. But Hermione has her reasons.

Hermione is scared. Scared to do this, not because she is scared of it, but because she would be giving up. Giving in. It would mean she accepted her death, as well as everyone else's. Hermione would not do this, because she wouldn't give up hope. And if she surrendered her hope, who would hope for her, and the rest of Hogwarts?

…Exactly.


	2. In the Nights Left

A/N: I was feeling like writing something kinda depressing, and this is what came out. In an odd sort of way, it goes along with Giving In, my Hermione fic.

* * *

He sat on the end of this bed, gasping for air. His pale cheeks were tear stained, making them glisten in the low candle light. His chest was heaving with deep breaths. Cold sweat made his sheets stick to his thin body. He had another dream.

He could feel the Dark Mark burning into his skin, piercing his innocence as if it never existed. He wouldn't scream, or beg for mercy. He would just take the pain as if he wanted it, as if he welcomed it. The eyes of each Death Eater were glued on his form, praising him. Some winked, some nodded, others would just stare, testing him for weakness.

And each time he dreamed this horrific scene, it would become more and more realistic. His arm would ache more each time he awoke. His eyes would burn with unshed tears. His mind would be fogged, except for images from his dream.

And every morning, he would pull a sheet of paper out from under his pillow. He would grab a quill from his bed side table, and draw a line through that day marked on the calendar.

Four days left.

Three days until his dream would become reality.

Two days until he would take on something he didn't want.

One day until he belonged to the Dark Lord.

Today, Draco Malfoy became a Death Eater.


	3. Not What You Think

A/N: Seriously, what is it with me and these suddenly depressing stories? Sorry if this one is a little out of character for Sirius, he's a little hard to write for me. But I don't own him, or anyone else mentioned.

* * *

It's not what you'd think, dying. You expect to feel pain, sorrow, your world closing in on you. But I felt... I felt, peaceful. It were as if my entire existence were coming into perspective. As if my entire meaning of being put on this God forsaken planet was worth while.

James was something that made my life good. He was my best mate, my brother. He took me in, when my family had cast me aside as a disgrace. A mutt in a kennel of pedigrees. I would have done anything for him, and I still will. I still manage a smile when I think about him. All of them.

Lily was a picture by herself. I never felt more for her than was necessary, but she was still the essence of beauty. She lit the room with her smile, with just her presence. She cared for everyone, even those she hated. But I guess she never really hated anyone. She still loved her sister, and still stuck up for Snape. She was better than all of us.

Remus had needed me. He had needed us in Hogwarts. We were there for him, through everything. If it was possible, I think he may have been my favorite. I had a soft spot for him, especially after a hard full moon, when he was to weak to stand. But I remember his voice, grating out a small thank you when I half carried him back through the tunnel.

Peter. There's nothing more to say about him. I don't forgive him, and never will. I know Remus has, and I know James would have. But not me. I can't forget the lies, the way he played us all in his twisted little tune. I hope he'll be joining me soon, here in this place.

And out of all of this, is Harry. I hate myself for leaving him. We needed each other, more than I realized. I was selfish. I thought of him as James, reincarnated just for me. But Harry is his own. His eyes and compassion, those are Lily's. And his hair and skills are James's. But his smile... is something unique. For so many lives in his hands, his smile still shows how young he is. How uncertain he is. And I'm not there to comfort him.

It's not what you think, dying. But I hope you never have to go the way I did, for the sake of the ones you leave behind.


End file.
